In western fields of corn and northern timber lands,
They talk about me, a saloon with a soul,
The soft red lights, the long curving bar,
The leather seats and dim corners,
Tall brass spittoons, a nigger cutting ham,
And the painting of a woman half-dressed thrown reckless
across a bed after a night of booze and riots.

Poet:Carl SandburgPoem:6.
Jungheimer's
Volume:Chicago Poems
- Shadows
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